


Rust

by Charllllotte



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-28 19:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charllllotte/pseuds/Charllllotte
Summary: A friend's concern is the last thing Sylvain need.My take on the aftermath of Tower of the Black Wind.Please be warned comfort doesn't exist till chapter 2...





	Rust

One look at the training grounds in Garreg Mach was enough to tell: the Officer Academy and its staffs didn’t mess around. The arrangements had the sturdiness and efficiency to serve an army.

Or, to Sylvain, it was more like one sniff. 

Even at this hour, long after the sun was set and students cleared out, the baked air in this place still reeked of metal and sweat of the future knights. There were also traces of blood, stale and acidic that Sylvain knew could only be his mind’s work: a reminder of why he was here at all.

Curious, he thought, picking up a training sword. The blade rolled unevenly upon his calloused palm, caught the dim light of a sandy crescent. They were trained to fight, yet nothing within these walls made so much as a cut. Made him wonder how others were connecting this… playing house with lives they took out there. 

He was not here to fight or train, though. He was lashing out… whatever it was, battering a dummy with a piece of metal and blind impulse and nothing more. No tactic nor technique, and of course, no purpose. Only because it was a dummy that he hadn’t died yet.

A far cry from the lethal grace he usually saw come from a sword. Maybe that was why the din in his chest refused to die down. Sylvain sighed when he finally pulled to a frustrated stop, eyes stung from sweat. Slept next door to Dimitri, he should have known better. Maybe it was only meant to work for Felix.

“You need a better training partner.”

The redhead almost stumbled as he whirled around towards the sound, and had to stabilize himself against the poor dummy he was bullying earlier. Felix’ hair was down and his skin looked paler in its frame, almost like an illusion – how long had he been watching? 

It felt like the worst kind of trick one’s mind could play, except nothing would be able to fake that air of familiarity the other was carrying; especially not Sylvain, who seemed to be the only thing out of place here and now.

“…My, you’re making too good an assassin. Seems our dear professor was right about your career path.” He did manage to tease, which got easier as he went on, “If you ever consider asking for Sir Gwendal’s daughter’s hand, even the Grey Lion won’t be much of a challenge – yeah, you know you could really consider it? She’s very sweet. ”

Frowning, Felix didn’t bother to answer. Topics in this category tended to rub him in the wrong way, which, quite frankly, was the whole point. Sylvain secretly hoped he’d just shake his head and walk away; but instead, the swordmaster stepped closer and drew his sword in a silent invitation. 

This was…not good. It was almost Felix’ way to say “let’s talk” and Goddess knew how much he could hear from clashing swords. Sylvain decided immediately that he’d be the one to walk away this time.

“Nah, I’m done for the night.” He smiled and waved the empty hand, “Nighty nighty, see that you don’t stay up too late either!”

He was about to walk past Felix, when the other spoke, sword still in a loose grip.

“You’ve been…”

The swordmaster paused in the middle of the sentence, as if searching for words. It was a rare sight to behold, as Felix simply spoke his mind. Sylvain had always assumed that was the best benefit of a clean conscious. 

But of course, it was Felix, so it was only natural that he decided to cut the chase altogether.

“Something’s on your mind. Can I help?”

Now the gaze of Faerghus’ autumn in its full glory was upon him, intense and genuine. Sylvain had to make a serious attempt to force a smile. 

“-well, if you insist, I know these girls who’d join a double date-“

“Sylvain.”

Felix had the decency to only interrupt him then, but looked like he was about to snap any time, just as Sylvan had secretly hoped. But when the swordmaster took a deep breath and spoke again, he sounded more confused than mad. 

“Since when all you want us to talk are about girls?”

“You mean when you are not talking about training?”

Half of Sylvain knew what he was doing and was disgusted by it: putting words in the other’s mouth, so that he could righteously point out the hypocrisy and laugh at it. Manipulation had been something in his arsenal for a while, but he never thought he would take it out on his friend – on a normally day a sheepish look would be more than enough to have him look away sighing. 

But…neither of them seemed to be himself tonight. 

The other half of him couldn’t help but to sneer at his own arrogance. He’d seen the swordmaster in fight a thousand times over – this one didn’t know what giving up looked like. One strike didn’t hit true, two more will follow. Felix, even if he was hurt, would show no flinch or hesitation.

“You are trying to kill the conversation. “ It was an observation, surprisingly enough for him, followed by a proposition, “Fine. Let’s talk about ‘girls’, then.”

Sylvain was too taken aback to say anything. For once, after all these years, the stern Felix actually brought it up himself! But as Felix continued, his amazed mood vanished, fast, as if it was never there.

“I ran into you and someone breaking up last week.” 

It only took Sylvain a moment to remember the incident, which spoke volume of how ugly the situation was then. Even among his friends, Felix would be the only one to refer it as “breaking up”, trusting Sylvain had a reason – which, of course, he was undeserving of. And despite his discomfort with the topic that was quite obvious to Sylvain, Felix continued with a frown. 

“This…you know it does you no good. If you are looking for someone to spend the rest of your life with …”

Just what he needed, Sylvain thought with a bitter laugh, died on his lips before it made to the air: another nail on the befitting coffin that was called the rest of his life! He didn’t know it was even possible, but somehow, coming from a concerned Felix made it worse. 

He’s too tired, however, to be angry or to care about why. It sounded pathetic even in his own head, but at times just wearing his own skin was a burden. 

There had always been a shortcut around. And he took it this time. 

“Felix.” A pause, for him to look at the other in the eyes, “My life is none of your business. “ 

NOW the dummy was dead on the ground, Sylvain absently thought, reaching for the silver blade buried three inches deep in it. As uncharacterized as it was, the sword’s master had forgotten it as he stormed out. 

He would need it back in the morning.

Sheer and unspotted, the blade was gleaming even in the duskiest place - too beautiful for an empty vessel to bear. Yet its coldness was almost gentle, soothing over the searing pain, as Sylvain clenched it in his hands. 

The deafening friction of rusty heart was gone. And now he finally had his peace.


End file.
